


such a lovely way to burn

by mswyrr



Series: how the light gets in [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Bondage, Consensual Kink, F/M, Femdom, Roleplay, male sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:20:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mswyrr/pseuds/mswyrr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During happier times, Hawke and Anders figure out some femdommy kink together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	such a lovely way to burn

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to Act 3. Sequel to "[sound the bells](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1270624)."

Anders sauntered into the library, dropping gracefully into the chair across from her. “Oh, m’lady,” he drawled, his accent an atrocious overstatement of the Antivan elf’s, “You could… tie me and gag me and manhandle me.” He batted his eyelashes. “Or,” here he dropped the accent, switching back to his own clipped tones, “feed me to wolves, as I so richly deserve.”

Hawke looked up from her book. “Enjoying yourself?”

"Not as much as if you’d fed him to wolves, love."

"Such violent thoughts," she tsked, tapping the book against her knee. "Wherever would such a dear sweet man get these ideas?"

Anders sighed loudly. “I fear I have fallen sway to a violent mercenary’s untoward advances.”

Hawke pursed her lips into a sad little moue, holding back a smile. He struggled with low moods and it was nice when they could joke around. “What a pity!” she declared, widening her eyes in mock sadness. “Poor dove. Is your virtue yet lost? Can you be saved?”

"I suppose I could,” he mused, “but I haven’t much interest in it."

"But your reputation!” Hawke gasped. “The sterling flower of your honor!"

She could see him struggling to keep a straight face. “But what is virtue compared to the pleasures of debauchment?”

"Brazen hussy!" Hawke exclaimed, pointing her book at him. "The Maker frowns upon fornication. Especially with mercenary wenches."

"The Maker has no grounds on which to speak, never having enjoyed such things himself," he parried back with a suggestive leer.

There was a long pause and then they both started laughing.

“‘Sterling flower of my honor’??” Anders snorted. “You’ve been reading too many of Varric’s books!”

Hawke held her favorite edition of _Hard in High Town:_ _Siege_ _Harder_ up for his perusal. “You may be right.”

Anders shook his head. “I wonder, do you suspect,” he said, “the reason he writes you as he does?”

"There’s good coin in it," she said, shrugging. "And he knows I find it amusing."

"And he’s more than a bit in love with you."

Hawke opened her mouth, then closed it. Their joking aside, he wasn’t given to making light of serious feelings. He must be in earnest. But Varric was so… she would say like a brother to her, but he was loyal and kind to her as Carver never had been, even before he joined the Templars. “Are you sure? I don’t think…”

"It’s painfully obvious to everyone, I assure you. Why else would a freewheeling rogue stay in one place like this, risking arrest to be at your side?" He looked away, at the fire. "Today I began to wonder if perhaps… you aren’t aware of the bevy of far more suitable suitors than I you could have with a crook of your finger?"

"I’m not interested in Varric," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "And I don’t see him pining away for love of me, regardless of what *you* see. So don’t worry. You worry enough as it is."

"It’s not…" he shifted, shook his head. "I only mean that you seemed taken by the elf’s offer."

"Maker take me," she said, rolling her eyes. "Is _that_ what this is about?”

"I wouldn’t begrudge you, if you found someone else. I’ve made no secret that I am a… losing proposition. But only if you were to, perhaps, pick someone loyal, decent, and with life prospects beyond," he laughed, sharp and bitter, "applying for a position as Meredith’s new assistant in a few years."

The memory of Elsa, the brand on her forehead, no feeling in her voice or eyes, was sudden and unpleasant. “Don’t talk like that. I would never let that happen.”

"If you fight too hard, even your reputation as champion won’t protect you. The Templars would get two new pets…"

Hawke stood up, tossed the book on the chair, and stared down at him, her stance ready and angry, like he was about to fight her. “Is there a reason you’ve decided to torment me this evening? Where is this coming from?”

"In matters of the heart, no matter how foolhardy or brave you like to be, I am in favor of you realizing there are better offers. But you might consider trading _up_ , that’s all.”

"I’m not _considering_ anything!”

"It would be wise."

"We’ve had this discussion before, many times."

"Yes, but that was when you seemed determined to only have eyes for me. The unhappy, lonely eyes of a woman who took my ‘no’ and proceeded to spend _three years_ not pursing anyone else apart from the occasional prostitute. But today, the elf made an offer and,” he spread his hands.  “I could see you considering it. Only he’s a worse bet than I am.” He titled his head and, with the feathers on his cloak, made her think of a quizzical bird. “Has someone cursed you to have awful taste in men? We could get an amulet…”

"You," she said, pointing a finger at him, "are a fine man. Though petty and jealous and so self-abasing I have to wrest you bodily from seeking martyrdom at least once a month. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d never put up with it. But I’m done putting up with it for the night."

He raised his eyebrows. “Just like that?”

"Just like that," she said, hands on her hips.

"Well, if the queen has spoken…" he said gallantly, giving her a little bow in his chair.

"She has," Hawke agreed. "And furthermore, you marvelous dunce, you might want to think about what the elf said rather than who he is." It wasn’t something she had intended to share, but if he wanted to pick at it, why not?

He blinked rapidly. “The… you mean the…?” he waved his hands. “Tying and gagging rot?”

Hawke concealed her disappointment: he didn’t seem enthused at all. Well, it’s not like she expected to play out those fantasies with someone who’d *actually* been chained up and hurt for so much of his life. She never would have even brought it up if he hadn’t decided to make a fuss over that damned elf.

"I found the idea… distracting." She snatched her book up and stalked over to the bookshelf to put it away. "What you noticed was nothing but a moment’s surprised attraction. And I do want you to stop going on about it now."

When she turned back around she saw that he’d stood from his chair. He was staring at her like she’d dropped a priceless vase. Oh, boy. Why had she decided to brave admitting it? Dorcha Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall…. more like Champion of Unwise Decisions. She womanfully kept herself from covering her face with her palm.

Better to keep her eyes open and find a way out of this tangle.

Anders closed his gaping jaw shut and adjusted his feathered cloak in a move which she knew from previous experience meant he was nervous. This was getting better and better. The poor man looked like he thought she was going to jump him and drag him down to the equipment the former slavers who occupied the mansion had left in the cellar.

"I didn’t know you… had an interest. In which case I, ah…"

"It was just a stupid moment’s attraction!" she rushed to say. "A whimsy, nothing important."

He frowned at her. “Are you sure? I, well—”

"Of course I’m sure! I would never be so cruel!"

"—was going to say it sounds like a grand idea—"

They both came to a sudden halt, hearing each other.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "So sorry. Nevermind then!" He smiled, looking desperate. "Nevermind, please."

"But you just…? Did you say?"

"Oh, please don’t," he raised a hand to his brow in genuine distress. "I know what you’re thinking and it’s not at all… really, I’m terribly sorry, Hawke."

“Wait, what?”

"That night, after your mother… You probably think I was playing some kind of horrible game now. I wasn’t! I would never take advantage like that. Or find it pleasurable to receive… attention like that while you’re hurting. I was honestly — I never…" His shoulders slumped. "I would like to apologize. Again. For everything."

Hawke laughed. It wasn’t the right thing to do—he looked so hurt—but it was such a relief that, well, he didn’t think she was a horrible sick Templar type slavering to torture him or something. “For _everything_? In the whole history of Thedas?”

"For being so against a little innocent tying and gagging, you do have a sadistic streak, Hawke," he said. "You don’t have to enjoy my suffering quite so much."

Hawke stepped forward, touched his arm. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you. Your suffering is mine too — I thought I’d frightened you, when I mentioned… so I tried to cover it up…”

"Oh… Oh! So you… _do_ find it intriguing?”

Giving his arm a squeeze, she decided to be honest about it. “Yes. But wouldn’t that upset you? I’ve never known the real thing, thank the Maker, but when you have, it’s got to take the fun out of playing pretend?”

She loved the expression he wore when he was healing. Focused and warm, content to have a problem before him that could be fixed. Suffering he could ease, for once. He got that expression now as he reached up and touched her face, first with his fingertips and then with his whole warm, calloused hand. “My hand is in contact with your face, yes?”

"Uh…" she wanted to lean in close, rub on him like one of his cats. "Yes?"

His let his hand drop. “When someone punches you in the face, what does their hand do?”

"It…" she tried to piece together where he was going, "hurts?"

He nodded. “Yes, by touching you. Their hand comes in contact with your face. How is that different than what I did?”

"They’re completely different," she said, annoyed now. "They’re nothing alike."

"But what makes it different?" he probed, holding her gaze, his brown eyes so warm and soft.

"It was gentle. You care about me. I can feel it when you touch me. You’re not trying to hurt me."

"Exactly," he said. "And when someone really wants to hurt you, even if the touch is soft, you know, don’t you? Or when you’re sparring with Aveline and she gets past your guard, even though you take a hit, you can feel there’s no ill will behind it."

"Yes."

 ”That’s what the difference is like, between lovers’ games and…” he lowered his head, “the real thing,” he said, quieter than before.

She stepped forward, embracing him to her. “I never want to hurt you,” she swore, close to his ear.

"I know," he replied, patting her back. Then his tone changed, warm and suggestive, "That’s why a little tying and manhandling would be so fun." He pulled back, "If you’re so inclined. If not… we can forget it."

"I am so inclined. But I haven’t had any experience with this." She should have asked one of the prostitutes she’d visited before they became lovers. But it never seemed right to go that far with someone who was just… putting up with it.

Anders made sad eyes at her. “Tragic! But easily fixed.”

"Oh?" she shifted on the balls of her feet, looking at him and thinking about all the possibilities she hadn’t let herself believe could happen. But it was important to let him set the pace for now, since she really had no idea what she was doing. "What do you suggest?"

"There’s always the classic slave boy and dastardly owner angle…"

Hawke’s felt her nose crinkle. “I’ve heard too much of the reality of that from Fenris. What else?”

He sighed. “Yes, let’s put the thought of dear Fenris far from our minds, shall we. What about…” he tapped his lips, “master thief and stern city guard? Or does that recall to mind Aveline?”

Hawke laughed. “It didn’t, but it does now.”

"Drat. You’re not making this easy, love." He sighed. "What about you, have any bright ideas?" He brushed a bit of jaggedly cut hair behind her ear. "Any vivid images come to mind?"

There was one. But to say it out loud… except there he was, right in front of her, expectant and interested. How could she waste such an opportunity?

"Oh, nothing really, just…" she tried her best seductive voice and mimicked what she’d seen of Verric’s storytelling tricks. "A Ferelden refugee, working as a mercenary. She’s ordered to kidnap a talented healer by her employer and told to use…" she trailed a finger up his chest and to his throat, where she spread her hand, gentle but firm, "whatever means necessary to persuade him to work for them."

She felt his throat work under her palm as he swallowed hard.

Lowering her voice she leaned forward, gave his ear a nip. “What do you think?” she whispered.

"Where," he said thickly, "did we store the ropes?"

-

It was rather like staging a play. They spent an hour gathering materials and talking, setting the scene. She picked out a costume, her old leather armor and red sash, which always made her walk with a little extra sway in her hips, for all that it didn’t provide as much protection as her current, far less stylish gear.  
  
They worked out both a secret phrase and a gesture for if something really started to hurt or either of them wanted to stop. Some demented whimsy led Anders to suggest using Sir Pounce-a-lot’s name for the phrase, but Hawke was firm that “blight” worked better. (She really needed to get the poor man another cat before he wasted away from pining).

  
The whole process as was a strange combination of the erotic, the comedic, and the practical: she felt herself heating when it came time for him to strip down to his underclothes. And then she had to bind him in just the right pose for the scene. She nearly ruined everything by jumping him right then and there. But, no, she would not waste this opportunity.

Leaving him bound by the library’s upper floor fireplace, she went down to make final checks that no curious servants would be able to get in while they were having their game.

-

It felt like someone had overdosed her with energy potions, nerves rattling as she paced back and forth. The library door was locked and relocked and triple checked. All that was left to do was… go up there and try not to make a mess of this.

She started for the stairs, then backtracked. Ugh. Closing her eyes, she rubbed at her temples. She faced down death all the time, why was she so scared?  
  
Why had she wanted this again?

At the thought, she pictured the long cherished fantasy: what if she had met Anders while still in Meeran’s employ and she was *forced* to push the issue with him, instead of taking him at his word when he pushed her away and waiting _three bloody lonely years_ for him to give up hope she’d see sense? What if she was a much less scrupulous woman and she claimed him, made him hers right from the start?

Of course she would have been impressed by his talents, his kindness. Even a less scrupulous Hawke couldn’t avoid seeing the way refugees in Darktown trusted him, someone who gave so much in a city only interested in what it could take.

Even a less scrupulous Hawke would, after kidnapping him late from the clinic, knocking him out in his bed and tying him up, be concerned over him. Had the men shackled him too tight? He was an apostate, perhaps he would wake afraid the Templars had him…

With those thoughts, she found herself moving up the stairs, caught up in her role.

He was a beautiful sight: shirtless, covered only by the short drawers he slept in, his arms shackled in front of him. He was on his side by the fire. They decided she would leave him there so he wouldn’t catch a chill. There was a gag in his mouth and a black blindfold over his eyes. He was still… perhaps, according to the scenario, still unconscious from the dastardly kidnapping.

Hawke stepped forward, knelt down beside him. When she touched his arm, he flinched.

"So you are awake," she said.

Blindly turning his head to her voice, he said nothing. Could say nothing.

Running her hand up his arm, she touched his mouth, lips opened around the gag. 

"If you promise not to shout, I will remove this. Nod if you agree."

A slow nod, his body tense, so beautifully tense and exposed.

After she removed the gag, he licked his lips and kept silent.

"Do you not wish to speak, healer?"

"Please," he said. "Why have you taken me?"

"I have a business proposition," she said, reaching up to remove the blindfold.

He squinted at the light, wincing. “I don’t… understand?”  
  
"My employer has seen the virtues of having a healer… on staff. Your talents exceed any mage in this city except the First Enchanter and," she smirked, "I am afraid he has a far more tenacious guard in the Templars than you have in your clinic’s tabby."

"Your employer," he said, looking dazed, "couldn’t have just asked?"

Hawke laughed. “My employer is a very bad man, healer. Your feelings on slavers are well known. Would you freely leave your oh so deserving patients to spend your time saving wretched slaver lives from much deserved pain and death?”

He frowned. “What of Tevinter mages? They would not mind, surely there is a healer…”

"Tevinter mages of your quality work for a king’s ransom. They are trained for decades, treasured, wealthy and uninterested in traveling to a backwater where any Templar might take them. And none of them are so…" she drawled the word out, "singularly without friends as yourself."

"My patients are…"

Hawke shook her head in mock sadness. “Quite good as hostages to coerce your good behavior, but nothing else. They cannot afford to feed themselves, let alone take on a well-trained mercenary group.”

His eyes narrowed. “I am not without defenses. I have not spent all my time in the study of healing.”

Touching his clenched hands she said, “You are at the moment bound by shackles whose runes suppress your magic.”

"You must free me if I am to heal your precious slavers," he jibed.

By way of explanation, Hawke called a neat fireball into her upraised hand. It crackled with electricity, fierce and bright.

"I too am a mage," she said, "and I have spent all my time learning to end lives, rather than save them. I am very efficient where you are merely adequate."

The look in his eyes was priceless.

  
She wanted to touch his hair and her less scrupulous character had no interest in resisting temptation, so she banished the fire and did so. He jolted at her touch and then stilled as she proved gentle.

The stillness was not calm, however: he made her think of a rabbit caught in a wolf’s jaws.

It felt good to be the wolf. Just reach out and take what she wanted, knowing he too wanted it.

She drew his head into her lap, and continued stroking his hair, gentling him.

He shuddered under her hands. “Why are you doing this?”

“You are beautiful,” Hawke said. It was the first thought she’d had about him, that first time she walked into his clinic and saw him healing a refugee. The way his hands had worked, the expression on his face… and how he had stumbled after, weakened by giving so much. She had wanted to take everything he had to give, wrap herself around him jealously. Over the years, the feeling had only grown. “And I will have you.” It felt so good to say those words, to demand instead of asking. To pretend she could, simply by desiring it, own him all for herself. “Come to me willingly and I can make it sweet…” she traced the shell of his ear with a fingertip, “when was the last time there was sweetness in your life, healer? How long have you been alone?”

Tears filled his eyes, surprising her. “Messere,” he said, “please. Don’t temp me so.”

Hawke leaned down, kissed the tears from his cheeks. “I will have you,” she repeated. It felt so good to say.

“You are the first mage I have met who is not bound to a Circle,” he admitted and she felt him shiver. “But the things you do to be free…”

“The things I do are mine to own. If you come to me, you need only heal a few scoundrels and enjoy my favor.” She smiled. “Can you find a better offer?”

The cloth of his underclothes was thin and soft. She touched his thigh, running her hand over the warm skin just barely covered. His arousal was evident. She moved to stroke his belly and then down, brushing lightly over his cock.

He went taut like a bowstring in her hands, gasping.

“I will have you,” she said, and it felt like a prayer. She closed her hand now around his warm cock through the thin material. “Will you come willingly?”

He closed his eyes tight. “Yes,” he spoke on a sobbed breath. “ _Please._ ”

There was a fever in her blood. It made her breath come fast and her body quake. She resisted the worst of it, but in her belly, down deep, there was nothing but the hot, ready desire to rock against him, take him inside.

She moved him out of her lap and onto his back, pushing his bound hands above his head.

He was so compliant under her, looking up in dazed pleasure.

This could be over so quickly, but she wanted to draw it out. She stroked her hand down his stomach, teasing at the drawstring of his underclothes.

He arched up into her touch. She edged the material down, slowly, as he gasped and shook under her hands. It was so good to control her own quaking and watch him be undone like this.

But there was only so much self-restraint she could maintain. Finally she pushed the material down and gripped him, stroking.

He cried out, panting.

Hawke smiled, glad she had refrained from wearing anything under her skirt. She spread her legs over his him, moving to take him inside, her hand gentle and guiding. They came together so easily, his hips jerking upward as she sank down on him, hot and greedy, well slick with wanting him.

“Be still,” Hawke said. “You do not have permission to find release yet.” She closed her eyes and let the feeling settle into her very sinews, joining with him like this, her hands free to roam over his warm skin. Under her, he was still and obedient, though she felt him tremble with want.

“Please, messere,” he gasped out. “Please.”

She opened her eyes, looked down at him. There was no more beautiful sight than his body, tense and ready, held in abeyance to her command. “My dear,” she said, smiling. “Hush, hush,” and as she spoke she flexed her hips, taking him deeper, setting their rhythm.

He sobbed out a breath and she could feel him struggle to follow her orders.

The satisfaction of it was overwhelming, his obedience, his body at her command. Hawke lowered herself on her elbows and kissed him, breathing in his gasps as she rocked against him, taking her release. It came easily, the thoughts and sensations burning hot in her belly until she clenched around him, shuddering, liquid warmth spread through her muscles. She raised herself up and ground her hips against him, riding his cock until she found another wave of pleasure.

When the fever in her blood had thus been satisfied she looked down at the poor dear man. He looked half-delirious from his struggles. She petted his neck, hand loose around his throat.

“You may move now,” she said gently. “Follow my lead.”

He groaned and did so, meeting each of her thrusts until, moments later, he shuddered, pressing up into her. She enjoyed watching this now, with her own pleasure satisfied. She petted and stroked him as he lost himself in her, feeling so tender and possessive toward him. If only he could always be hers like this, and there were no world but the warm joining of their bodies.

“Hawke,” he said, looking up at her after. “I just…”

“Hush,” she said, lying down against his chest. “We’ll talk when we wake,” she said with a yawn, pleasure and the heat of the fire making the day’s exertions catch up with her.

-

When they woke it was in a shared spirit of giddy mischief. Hawke looked up at him from her comfortable spot against his chest. “This can’t be comfortable for you,” she said, “though it is for me. The floor is hard and you are soft. But would you like to move now?”

He grinned. “Only by your leave, messere.”

Hawke laughed. “We are past that portion of the night.”

“But such a memorable experience is not soon forgot…” He sighed. “I would enjoy holding you, however, if you chose to free my hands.”

Lifting the key from it’s chain around her neck, she quickly unshackled his hands and then rubbed them gently when he winced. “Are you all right?” She should have freed him. And perhaps not used the poor man as a mattress after giving him such a workout…

“Of course, my love!” he said, patting her hands. “There was far more pleasure than pain. And much pleasure in what pain there was.” He smiled. “You are amazing, Hawke.”

She bowed her head, embarrassed now to face him. The things she had exposed about herself this night… far more than she ever had before, all her jealous, possessive little feelings brought to light. Her desire for power over him, the temptations she considered about taking things as if they were hers by right instead of asking.

And her love. She wasn’t sure he had understood before how total her love for him was. Perhaps he would not bring up better options in suitors now, knowing what a greed she had for him and only him in her heart.

His fingers came up and touched her chin, guiding her gaze back up. “If I may ask, how long have you wanted that?”

Should she confess? But what could it hurt, now that she had exposed so much of herself.

“It took time to build the scenario,” she admitted. Years of frustration gave her plenty to work with, however. “But the basic thought?” She shook her head, smiled. “I have wanted you since the first moment I saw you healing that patient in Darktown.”

His whole expression softened. “Oh, Hawke,” he said. “You are wonderful. You are breathtaking. If you should ever wish to ravish me at any time, for any reason, in any situation…” He grinned. “Well, you have only to ask.”

Hawke laughed. “You’ll make a monster of me if you feed my lust too much.”

“No. I could never.. there is nothing monstrous about you. I…” he sighed, cupped her face. “I love you, Hawke. I have never loved anyone as I love you.”

She leaned down, bumped her nose against his jokingly and gave him a soft kiss. “That is most fortunate, healer. For I love you at least as much.”

They collected themselves and snuck quietly out of the library. It was late enough that none of her servants caught them in their obvious dishabille, thankfully. They retired to her bedroom and she was able to recline upon her lover’s bosom in more comfortable surrounds. They lie together, in love and sweet rest, for the remainder of the night and well into the next morning.

-end-

_Sun lights up the daytime_  
_Moon lights up the night_  
_I light up when you call my name_  
_And you know I’m gonna treat you right_

[ _[peggy lee, “fever”]_ ](http://youtu.be/JGb5IweiYG8)


End file.
